My Other Day Job
by dramamelon
Summary: Who needs medieval torture devices when there's paperwork to be done?


**Disclaimer:** Bleach = so not mine and so not filling my empty pockets. Someday I'll sit and come up with a better disclaimer.

**Characters/Pairing:** Grimmjow, Gin  
**Content:** language  
**Summary: **Who needs medieval torture devices when there's paperwork to be done?  
**Word Count:** 1340  
**Concrit:** go for it.  
**Notes: **A fever-induced bit of stupidity. I'm two months behind on my "one sharable project a month" resolution dealie, so this is being deemed sharable. (Never said it had to be good, just sharable! :D) Also, why the heck am I writing Grimmjow again? o.O

* * *

**MY OTHER DAY JOB**  
_(or, Grimmjow's Life as a Paper Shredder)_

"No amount misbehavior in the world should amount to this sort of punishment. Ever," Grimmjow grouched as he reached for another bundle of paper set on the desk in front of him. With a scowl fixed firmly in place, he fiddled with the stack, separating out the mixed together files much more neatly that one would think his wont. Then, one by one, he stapled each with a harsh slam of his palm across the ancient office stapler. The thick red welt gracing the ball of his thumb was well on its way to permanent, he figured after giving the growing ache a quick glance. "This is such a fuckin' load of crap."

"Oh, I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken on why you're here, Mister Jaegerjaquez," came the irritatingly smooth voice of one Ichimaru Gin. It always reminded Grimmjow of what must be the sound of silk dragged over slime. He shuddered at the thought, squirming as one long-fingered hand curled around the shape of his shoulder.

"Oh yeah?" he replied, resisting the animal urge to bite that hand, however nice it might sound to spend a couple hours gnawing the meat off those slender digits before crushing the bones between his molars. "Then just why the fuck am I here playing secretary?"

"If I were you," Gin began, the sharp tips of his fingers tracing over the back of Grimmjow's neck like the feet of a large spider, easily slipping under the popped collar of Grimmjow's jacket, "and praise be I'm not, I'd just be glad I wasn't given the usual uniform. Although, a short skirt and tall heels might just suit you, come to think of it."

Grimmjow slanted a narrow-eyed glare over his shoulder at the slick-faced former Shinigami. That creepy smile of his was lodged in place, as expected. His even creepier habit of keeping his eyes closed never failed to make Grimmjow's spine crawl, either, though he kept it hidden well.

"Of course, it was measured to fit Nnoitra, so it would be something of a tight fit in the hips," Gin added, making it sound like an afterthought, though Grimmjow knew immediately it was specifically designed to send horrific images prancing through his head... and prance they did. Grimmjow suddenly understood the phrase "just threw up a little in my mouth" intimately. He wondered if he looked as green as he felt.

"What the hell did you tell me that for?" he griped, fingers gripping the file he still held tight enough to put wrinkles into it.

"Simply to let you know that you're hardly being punished," Gin told him, slimy tendrils of amusement riding the undercurrent of his words. Grimmjow refrained from a show of relief when the man's hand pulled away from his nape, but gave into the desire to rake the mussed bits of hair at the base of his skull back into place. "However, this is most certainly your new day job until such time as Lord Aizen decides otherwise. He doesn't take kindly to moonlighting or too much self-initiative, you know."

"Hey, I'll admit to the self-initiative bit – which I haven't done recently, just so you know – but I ain't never pulled any moonlighting," Grimmjow complained. He shoved the corner of the crumpled file into the stapler and sent a staple through the sheaf of paper. Thrusting it atop the growing pile of sort-of-organized files, he sent a cup of rubber bands and paperclips situated on the edge of the desk flying. They landed in a colorful splash across the floor that made Gin grimace.

"That was hardly conducive to getting yourself off early for good behavior, you realize," Gin said, slipping around to the front of the desk where he could gaze down on Grimmjow imperiously. If one could call it gazing when Gin's eyes remained tightly closed. He really had to wonder at the point of that. Honestly, was there one? Grimmjow was pretty sure that if he tried it, he would be slamming into walls left and right while tripping over shoelaces he didn't have.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Grimmjow said in return with a snort, piling together another stack of papers to be stapled with a sad lack of gentility. "I'm supposedly not here to be punished so it's not like I have the first clue why I'm here to begin with. Nothing I've done lately is of the too much self-initiative variety."

"There is also something less than admirable about a _lack_ of self-initiative, I'm afraid."

Grimmjow's features converged into a tight frown of annoyance. "Say what?"

The slippery smile was leveled on him again as Gin asked, "You said nothing you've done lately has been of the too much self-initiative variety, didn't you? At this, I just have to ask, what _have_ you done lately?"

With a loud clatter, the bone-white ladderback chair Grimmjow was seated in tumbled over backward as he lunged across the desk at the smirking ex-Shinigami. He caught Gin's collar in tightly clenched fists and barked in his face, a spray of hot spittle landing across the bridge of his narrow nose. "All right, listen up, you creep! If that's the fuckin' case, why the shit don't you have Starrk's ass in here?" He flailed a hand in the vague direction of the Primera's quarters. "Lazy son of a bitch couldn't get any lower on the self-initiative totem pole if he tried – and I think we both know he wouldn't!"

Judging from the unchanging expression on Gin's face, Grimmjow could only conclude that he was unmoved by the display. Very much unlike Grimmjow himself, whose chest heaved and mouth frothed. He released Gin and let himself slip back to his side of the desk, feet touching down with a quiet click as his heels met floor. Next, he ran a hand through his thuggish hair, then straightened the set of his uniform before wiping the back of one hand across his mouth.

"Feel better now?" Gin had the nerve to ask, looking only lightly rumpled in the aftermath.

Grimmjow sniffed in irritation and dragged a knuckle under his nose. Without looking Gin's way, he gave the man a curt nod. "Yeah, fine."

"Glad to hear it." Pulled from within the confines of Gin's uniform coat, a new stack of papers landed with a slap on the desk. "These ones need to be shredded, if you don't mind too awfully much."

"'Course not," Grimmjow said, the words sharp and concise. The sooner Gin left again, the sooner he could get his not-punishment over and done with minus the audience. "Love to. My favorite thing in the world, shredding."

"Good, good. I'll see if I can dig more up for you to take care of, then."

"Great." Grimmjow hooked a rung on his fallen chair with a foot and levered it back into a standing position. He sat on the hard seat and eyed the new addition to his paperwork detail. "You do that."

"Remember," Gin said with an infuriating politeness as Grimmjow reached for the top of the stack, tapping one of those long fingers on the top sheet, "shredded."

With a swoosh of his long, white coat, Gin was out the door and gone. Grimmjow sighed as he eyed the papers in his hand. "Shredded, he says," Grimmjow sulked, reaching into the top drawer of the desk for the gleaming pair of scissors that stood in for the lack of a more modern paper shredding device. "Creepy bastard. Fuckin' cruel and unusual..."

Moments later, after a brief inspection, the long bladed scissors were cast aside, landing on the floor behind him with a sharp metallic clang, in favor of using his teeth. The resultant confetti was slightly damp and by no means neat-edged, but it was confetti nonetheless and infinitely more satisfying against the burning of his temper. If he was found digging bits of paper out of his teeth later, no one would dare mention it for fear of taking the world's biggest spitwad to the face.

END


End file.
